The joint blog of four writers / high-powered professionals

Give me your hips (Chance, 1.6)

Returning to my Chance serious after two and a half months! I have re-ordered the posts to it goes more chronologically. Still a bit confusing to follow, sorry.

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I wrote the last post when I was 20, which is why it ends with “fade to black.”

This is what happened:

We went into Chance’s room, which was pretty messy. There were clothes and mugs all over the floor and tapestries tacked crookedly over the windows. One thing I noticed right away was the number of books — stacks of them by the walls, a small overflowing bookcase by the door.

Chance had me lie on my stomach on his bed, which was a pallet on the floor. I did so, but left my shoes on, as a small declaration to myself that nothing was going to happen. He got on top of me with a knee on either side of my hips, and massaged my back. It was a little painful because his hands were so strong.

After a while, he suggested that I take off my shirt and bra so he could rub my bare back. “I won’t look,” he promised. I hesitated, then decided I felt OK — and I didn’t want to look lame for turning down something that was standard procedure in a massage. I stripped down from the waist up, then lay back down on my stomach.

Chance unscrewed a bottle and oiled down my back. He went up and down my whole body, even thoroughly massaging my butt — I remember feeling a bit embarrassed, and impressed by how clinical he was.

Which as it turned out, was not very. “Take off your pants,” he suggested next. I laughed a lot to cover my embarrassment. “Why?” I asked, stalling. “I can give your hips a much better massage,” Chance said. “But I like my pants,” I said. “Do you feel safe with me?” Chance asked. I considered. “Yes,” I said. “Then give me your hips,” he said seriously.

I wavered, was right on the edge of doing it — but finally I decided that was where I wanted to draw the line. “It’s OK,” I said. “You don’t have to do my hips.”

He didn’t seem offended, but was a little subdued after that. He kept massaging me, but eventually his hands got slower and slower, until finally he stopped.

I turned over to see what he was doing. The ceiling light was behind his head, blinding me. He was looking down at me with his brows knitted, this really intense look on his face. He got down and started kissing my breasts, then lowered himself down until his face was inches from mine.

I thought he was going to kiss me, but he didn’t — he just hovered there, his mouth right over mine, as if he was waiting for permission. Figuring we’d already rounded second base with the breast-kissing thing, I freely gave it: I leaned up and kissed him.

I remember he did this little thing like he was startled — he sort of froze and shuddered at the same time. We kissed for a while, and then he stripped down. He took off every single piece of clothing he was wearing without a pause or a hint of self-consciousness. I remember staring with amazement at his body. He was very fair, covered with copious amounts of very dark hair, and he was absolutely ripped — I could see the muscles standing out in his shoulders and chest and abdomen. (Holden was a pudgy; Alex was skinny).

He took off my shoes and I felt a sudden surge of panic: my lack of organization / girl credentials were about to be exposed, just like with Holden. “My socks don’t match,” I blurted. Then I added, “Sorry.”

Chance paused, one ankle in each hand. He looked at the black sock on my right foot and the white one on my left. “Huh,” he said, then pulled both socks off my feet, followed quickly by my jeans.

It gets a bit hazy after this. I’m pretty sure I gave him a blowjob — I’m not normally so take-charge-y, but he was kneeling there totally naked and extremely clean and soapy smelling. I didn’t have time to get anxious about whether I was doing it right, because after only a minute or two he pushed me onto my back and we had sex. He pulled out, reared back onto his knees, and came onto a pile of dirty laundry in the corner of his room (for some reason I laugh whenever I remember this).

At some point he must have turned out the light, and then the next morning I woke up with daylight shining through the tapestries hanging on the windows. I was super thirsty and no longer stoned. Chance was behind me. I didn’t know if he was asleep or not.

The question was soon answered as he put his arm around me from behind. He spooned me for a second, during which I felt him go from zero to sixty, and we had sex again in that position — which was cool as well as surprising (again, Holden didn’t recharge that quickly). “Sorry,” he said breathlessly when we were done. “You are just… really hot.”

We got dressed and crept out of his room, to find Eben and Samantha and Luke (Chance’s younger brother) awake and on their phones. The living room was right on the other side of the wall from Chance’s bedroom, and I was so flustered by the idea that they had heard us having sex that I said barely anything as Chance walked the three of us back toward campus.

It was mostly him and Eben walking ahead and talking, and me and Samantha following behind. The ease of last night was gone — I was a bundle of nerves, worrying about what I was supposed to do or say now that I’d had my first one-night stand practically two meters away from my two best friends.

As we got to the headquarters of the daily newspaper, where I had to stop in to go to my internship, Chance finally dropped back next to me. “I guess I should get your number,” he said.

Just like that, the anxiety vanished. I felt on top of the world as I gave him my number and he wrote it down. “I’ll call you,” he said (yes he actually said that), and then he and Eben and Samantha continued back to campus, and I went into the newspaper offices.

I was delirious with excitement. Sitting in the newsroom, I wrote a long message to Liz, who was in Japan. And I started a blog to record what to me seemed like Fate finally taking hold, sweeping me into a new destiny.